


someday, my pain will mark you

by corsicana



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Timeline, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Trope Subversion/Inversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23639827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corsicana/pseuds/corsicana
Summary: Is Dimitri sticking a little too close to his side when they’re cleaning the stables together, or has it always been that way? Is Dimitri blushing a little whenever their hands brush for just a little too long, when giving Sylvain a training lance for a round of sparring? Is Dimitri smiling a little wider, laughing a little louder at Sylvain’s jokes than everyone else’s?Maybe he is. Maybe he isn’t. Not that it matters, because even if Dimitri felt that way, it’s not like it would ever work out.Or: Sylvain is born without a soulmark, without a soulmate. It doesn't matter to Dimitri nearly as much as it matters to Sylvain.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 125





	someday, my pain will mark you

At first, Sylvain doesn’t think much of Dimitri’s furtive glances in his direction. Dimitri’s probably just trying to think of the best way to scold Sylvain for his last fling, which, admittedly, went far worse than they usually do. It’s not really Sylvain’s fault, though, even if Ashe insisted it was the whole time he was stowing away in Ashe’s room. How was he supposed to know that the girl he was with wouldn’t like him seeing other people? They’d never established that boundary clearly.

Knowing Dimitri, he’d see it the same way Ashe does. So Sylvain waits and waits for a lecture that never comes. The glances become more frequent, though, enough so that Sylvain has memorized the feeling of Dimitri’s gaze fixed on him. Sylvain catches him a couple times, winks at him for good measure. Each time, Dimitri flushes bright red as he averts his gaze like a startled animal. 

If it were anyone else, Sylvain would undoubtedly ask if they like what they see, or maybe if they’ve fallen for him. Dimitri, however, can hardly handle Sylvain suggesting that he ask a girl out, much less something as forward as that.

So Sylvain puts it out of his mind. Maybe it’s strange that Dimitri still hasn’t cornered him and lectured him for forever and a day, but Sylvain’s not complaining. After a while, Sylvain grows accustomed to it. 

In fact, Sylvain forgets about it entirely until a week or so later, when he and Felix are eating together in the dining hall. Sylvain had to lure Felix there with the promise of a spar, as if he and Felix aren’t best friends. The conversation shifts to the last battle they fought, and Felix grimaces at Sylvain’s praise of Dimitri. “I know you hate him, but even you have to admit we would’ve been screwed—”

“That’s not it.” Felix’s scowl only intensifies.“What, are you really telling me you’re so stupid you haven’t noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“The boar has been all over you lately,” Felix spits. “It’s disgusting. I thought you’d at least have enough good taste to not reciprocate.” 

Sylvain barks out a laugh. “Right, good one, Felix. Like His Highness even has a romantic bone in his body.”

“You of all people should’ve noticed the way he’s been acting around you. It’s sickening, really.”

“What, are you talking about the way he’s been making eyes at me? I’m sure he’s just gearing up for the biggest lecture of both of our lives.” Sylvain rolls his eyes. “With all this build-up, I’m sure it’s gonna be a good one.”

Felix stabs at the vegetables on his plate a little too aggressively. “You ought to figure it out yourself.”

Sylvain pokes and prods, but Felix refuses to elaborate further, eventually pushing his chair out with a huff. “Forget sparring today. I’ll find someone else—you’re insufferable.” 

It’s not the first time that Felix has just left him in the cafeteria, but it is the first time that it’s actually bothered him. Felix isn’t one to say things like that without being dead serious, but Dimitri having romantic inclinations towards Sylvain is absurd. In fact—

Here’s the thing: Sylvain remembers standing in front of his mirror as a child and examining every little inch of his body for a soulmark, never to find one. And, yeah, maybe that’s not a horrible thing—plenty of people are born without soulmarks, even if it’s a rarity. But even Miklan had a soulmark. It was simple, maybe ever more elegant because of that: half of a lance—not broken, but incomplete—etched in with black ink, no frills.

But Sylvain—Sylvain had nothing. Miklan’s voice still rings in his ears sometimes, faint and echoey as it travelled down the well: “Nobody’s going to miss you, after all.” And as Sylvain tried to chase him down through the mountains: “You know, you may have a Crest, but at least I have this.” He glances behind him purposefully, tapping his left shoulder, high up, right where Sylvain knows his soulmark is—and the look in his eyes sends a chill through Sylvain’s bones that he somehow knows isn’t from the cold.

There’s nothing in the church teachings saying that a lack of soulmark means anything to that effect—no, some of the most loved people in history didn’t have soulmarks. Still, the duplicity in people’s eyes as they look at Sylvain, their smiles not quite reaching their eyes, the apathy in their touches—what else could that mean but that Miklan was right?

Sylvain stares down suddenly sick to his stomach. Someone like Dimitri having feelings for him—what a joke. Dimitri deserves someone righteous, virtuous, fitting for a king. Dimitri’s soulmate (because he has to have one; how couldn’t someone like him?) is undoubtedly just like that, waiting for him somewhere out there.

/ * \

Nevertheless, the idea remains firmly lodged in his head. The more Sylvain tries to ignore it, the more it wedges itself into the center of his thoughts, feeding off every little scrap it can find.

Is Dimitri sticking a little too close to his side when they’re cleaning the stables together, or has it always been that way? Is Dimitri blushing a little whenever their hands brush for just a little too long, when giving Sylvain a training lance for a round of sparring? Is Dimitri smiling a little wider, laughing a little louder at Sylvain’s jokes than everyone else’s? 

Maybe he is. Maybe he isn’t. Not that it matters, because even if Dimitri felt that way, it’s not like it would ever work out. _Nobody’s going to miss you, after all._

As always, it’s easier to pretend that nothing is wrong when he’s otherwise occupied with whatever girl he’s seeing at the moment. She—what was her name, again? Clara? Mara?—must have noticed with the way her eyes flit here and there nervously, but that only makes Sylvain come on stronger. Sweet nothings, a kiss on her hand, that smile and wink that captures every woman so well—it all comes just as naturally as ever. 

Mara—or Clara, whichever it was—breaks up with him a few days later. That’s no issue. Even if he refuses to show his soulmark (or lack thereof), there’s always an endless supply of girls who would rather marry into nobility than chase the miniscule chance of finding their soulmate. He’s getting ready for his date with another one, actually, when Ingrid stops him in the Garreg Mach hallways and drags him aside with a stern look on her face. 

Sylvain supposes it’s been a while since his last lecture, given that—given that Dimitri hasn’t been giving him any lately. He’s long overdue for one. “I know what you’re gonna say,” he tells her before she can even open her mouth. “I’ve heard it all before, you know. Can we save it for another time? I’m actually running a little late right now—”

Ingrid’s expression hardens even more. “Actually, you _don’t_ know, so your date can wait. I’ll get straight to the point. Do you even know what you’re doing to His Highness?”

Sylvain bites the inside of his cheek hard enough that he tastes blood. “Uh, no? Unless you mean the usual stress and annoyance from my usual, ahem, _carousing_ with women? He hasn’t lectured me lately, though, so I assume he finally figured out that I’m a lost cause.”

“You know what I’m talking about.” Ingrid’s voice has an edge to it that Sylvain’s rarely heard—oh, he’s been lectured by Ingrid often enough that he’s memorized how anger tints her voice, but he’s never heard something quite like this. “You had to have seen the way he’s been looking at you lately. The way his face lights up when you walk into the room or crack one of your stupid jokes. You, of all people, couldn’t have missed that.”

“So we’re good friends. I still don’t see the issue.”

“Sylvain. You and I both know you’re not that dumb. Have you just been ignoring the way he looks whenever you talk about one of your conquests? Flirt with the Professor? Or the way he’s let up on you lately? If you’re not interested, that’s fine. But you can’t treat him like this. I won’t allow it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sylvain waves his hand dismissively, mouth going dry. “Look, if you’re so sure His Highness has got a thing for me, I guess I can go talk to him.”

“Just let him down lightly,” Ingrid murmurs. “That’s all I ask. You know he doesn’t—you know these things are hard for him.”

“You got it.” Sylvain’s hand is trembling, ever-so-slightly, at his side. He ignores it. “Are we done? I hate to keep a pretty lady waiting, you know. Not that you aren’t, of course, but—”

Ingrid sighs heavily. “Yeah, go ahead. Have a good time.”

Sylvain doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t go at all. He gets back to his room and ends up lying on his bed, staring, staring, staring at the unchanging ceiling.

/ * \

Usually, Sylvain would be eating lunch with Felix or Ingrid, sometimes Dedue or Ashe, but, for once, he just wants to be alone. It’s obvious enough from his demeanor that nobody approaches him.

“Pardon me.” Or, at least, he thought as much. He looks up at Dimitri. “Would it be acceptable to you if I sat here, or are you expecting someone else?”

Ingrid’s voice echoes in his mind, and he can’t bring himself to reject Dimitri. “Sure, go ahead. I always have time for His Highness,” he says with a wink. The brightness in his voice is skewed, ever-so-slightly, but it’s hardly noticeable.

“I appreciate it.” Dimitri sits down across from Sylvain, placing his tray down. “We haven’t spent much time together lately, you and I, and you looked like you could use some company.” 

Maybe Dimitri _did_ notice, then. “What, do I look down in the dumps?” Sylvain grins. “I’ve never been better. Aced that last test, have a date coming up—life’s good, you know?”

Dimitri hums noncommittally. “On the contrary, I heard that you had recently been rejected and that you didn’t show up for a date the other day.”

“It happens. I can’t let the little things phase me.”

“I suppose not. But it seems like they _are_ bothering you. You know that you can always discuss these things with Ingrid, Felix, or even myself if you would like to. My being the crown prince does not—”

“ _Does not mean you can’t entrust me with your troubles_ , yeah, yeah,” Sylvain says in a poor imitation of Dimitri’s voice. “I know. Thanks. I appreciate it.”

A smile flickers across Dimitri’s face. “So long as you know.”

Silence follows. This is why Sylvain has been avoiding Dimitri, even going so far as to ask the Professor to switch him away from stable duty with Dimitri. Sylvain can feel Dimitri’s gaze on him, full of hope for something more, something he isn’t. It crawls all over his skin like a slew of ants, fiery hot and biting. Dimitri knows who Sylvain is better than most anyone at Garreg Mach, and yet he still… he still… 

Dimitri clears his throat gently. “Sylvain—”

Ingrid will have his head if he doesn’t do this. “Look, do you want to come back to my room for a second?” Dimitri’s cheeks tint pink. Tiredly, Sylvain continues, “Not like that, Your Highness. I just—think we should…”

“Of course,” Dimitri says with grace that Sylvain wishes he had. “I have no obligations for the next few hours.”

They walk to Sylvain’s room quietly—Dimitri seems to know what’s coming, that it’s not the time to make small talk. Maybe Ingrid talked to him, too. It’s an agonizingly long walk to take in silence, but Sylvain prefers it to pretending that everything is fine.

When they get to Sylvain’s room, Sylvain pulls out a chair for Dimitri before sitting on the bed. Dimitri seems to be waiting for Sylvain to start, and because Sylvain has never had much tact in this sort of situation, he blurts, “You’re in love with me.”

Shock spreads across Dimitri’s face for a split second before he carefully hides it. There’s a moment of silence when Dimitri is maybe contemplating denying it, before he nods with a look of resignation. “Yes, I am.”

Sylvain bites his tongue. “Why? You know what a good-for-nothing I am. Why would you ever—”

“We all have our flaws, Sylvain.” Sylvain hates the way his name sounds on Dimitri’s tongue, the gentleness with which he speaks. “And you have so much good lying beneath the surface. You just act like there isn’t. I’ve borne witness to that good time and time again, and I suppose it—I suppose it captured me.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Your Highness.” His voice is more bitter than he intends, but he hardly cares right now. “There’s nothing lying beneath that surface.”

Darkness clouds Dimitri’s face. “That’s not true, and you know it, Sylvain. You cannot say such things about yourself—”

“I don’t have a soulmark,” Sylvain spits, against his better judgment. “I bet you have one, don’t you? I bet it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Sylvain presses his lips together, heaving a sigh before continuing. “You’re better off finding whoever your soulmate is.”

If that comes as a surprise, Dimitri doesn’t show it. He maintains eye contact with Sylvain, pointed and piercing. “I don’t care. My soulmark—it doesn’t matter. I would rather choose someone of my own volition.”

“What?” Sylvain asks, almost hysterically. “You think I’m better than whoever the Goddess has given you? You think I’m better than whatever political alliance you can forge through marriage?”

“You don’t know what you’re speaking of,” Dimitri retorts, anger coloring his voice. Good. Maybe, if Sylvain gets him angry enough, he’ll realize how stupid it was to be _in love_ with someone like Sylvain. “I know what I’m doing, Sylvain. You don’t have the right to—disparage that.” Oh, and there’s the note of hurt leaking through his voice.

“If the king is making a poor decision, it falls to his council to stop him, doesn’t it, Your Highness? I’m just telling it to you straight. I’m not for you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sylvain can see Dimitri’s hands trembling. “Do you really feel nothing, Sylvain? If you don’t, then I will do everything I can to move on from this. But you must be honest with me. I will not—”

“I don’t feel a thing.”

/ * \

Ingrid has some choice words for him after that, but at least Sylvain doesn’t have to deal with the weight of Dimitri’s gaze on his back, the way his chest squeezed whenever Dimitri’s hand brushed his, or the pride that welled up in him whenever he made Dimitri smile anymore.

/ * \

Abruptly, the war comes.

Soon enough, so does the news of Dimitri’s execution.

/ * \

Five years pass.

/ * \

Garreg Mach is a mess of bittersweetness and things he’d much rather leave in the past. He and Dimitri never exactly reconciled, ever an air of awkwardness and discomfort in their interactions from then on, and—well, Sylvain never had an opportunity to make up for it.

Sylvain probably only decides to go back for the Millenium Festival due to Ingrid’s insistence and Ashe’s letters— _we can’t pass up the opportunity to see one another again and reminiscence!_

Sylvain can’t find the heart to deny him either of them. Everyone else is going, and Sylvain can’t stay hinged to the past. He travels with Ingrid and Felix the whole way, each of them carefully avoiding the subject of Dimitri as his ghost lingers, staunch, in the air.

But as they reach the town just before Garreg Mach, Ingrid, on her pegasus, gasps and turns to them suddenly. Sylvain stops in his tracks—he’s heard enough stories about the area to know that she can’t be seeing anything good. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s—the professor and His Highness,” she says, disbelief bleeding into her voice. “They’re fighting off the thieves in the town. They’re horribly outnumbered—we have to hurry!”

Sylvain’s heart stops. There’s no way that’s true. He’s about to question Ingrid, but she’s already storming off on her pegasus and leaving him and Felix behind. He doesn’t have time to think before he’s charging after her.

He catches up with Ingrid, and he’s right there. Dimitri—haggard-looking, worse for wear, something distinctly _off_ about him—is there, fighting off bandits alongside the professor, and Sylvain—

Next to him, Felix’s voice is sharp. “Save your mushy reunion for later. You can’t expect to live on the battlefield if your head is clouded with useless thoughts like that.”

Against everything, Sylvain pushes it out of his head, and fights like he’s bringing back someone from the dead.

/ * \

It is evident from the second his mouth opens that Dimitri is not who he once was. All Dimitri’s talk of being a “walking corpse” has Sylvain’s stomach turning over and over on itself, even though he won’t say a word.

Dimitri is devoid of the compassion and the grace he handled himself with during their Academy days—what remains is a shadow of a person consumed by the idea of revenge. He sounds hollow, uncomfortably, familiarly so, and it’s _wrong_.

When they get back to Garreg Mach for the day, Sylvain almost follows Dimitri back to his quarters to try to talk to him—to see if that hollowness really runs as deep as it seems, maybe, or to apologize. But the sight of Dimitri’s retreating back makes it abundantly clear that there is nothing either of them have to say to one another, now.

/ * \

Fighting alongside Dimitri now, all Sylvain can do is compare him at every turn to the Dimitri who Sylvain once knew. Dimitri has an air of dangerous certainty about him, an untamed viciousness, so polar to the finesse Dimitri held himself with back at the Academy.

Dimitri barely acknowledges Mercedes when she heals him and borders on gleeful when he finishes off an enemy. Sylvain remembers their first mission with the professor, how Dimitri said killing never gets easier, as though it was yesterday. Sylvain supposes that’s no longer true, and the realization almost costs him his life for the distraction it causes—Ingrid swoops in and defends him just in time.

“You’ve got to take better care of yourself,” Ingrid tells him after the battle. “With His Highness—like that, we’re already running a high risk of losing numbers. You can’t add to that.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Sylvain mutters, staring down at his feet. “It’s just—I never…”

Ingrid’s face softens. “I know, Sylvain. It’s hard on all of us. I bet it’s especially difficult for you, since you and His Highness—well. I have the utmost faith in His Highness—he’ll return to normal soon, and then maybe you two can talk.”

Sylvain wishes he had that same faith.

/ * \

Sylvain hasn’t been sleeping well since they’ve returned to Garreg Mach. It’s late at night, far beyond when the shadows have begun to creep into his room through the window. He can’t force himself to sleep. Felix has been giving him hell lately for how poorly he’s been doing whenever they spar, but Sylvain can’t help it.

He’s been having nightmares riddled with Dimitri and the husk he’s become and _I don’t feel a thing_. He’s never been one to get too stuck on regrets, but of course, this is different. It’s always been different with Dimitri.

Eventually, he gives up, and begins walking aimlessly around the academy. Better to distract himself than to spend the night staring, staring, staring at the unchanging ceiling. He finds himself in the cathedral before long, feet guiding him there on their own whims. He’s never been particularly faithful, but the place is calming nonetheless. 

He’s not alone. There’s someone else, their figure protruding in the low light filtering through the stained glass window. “You shouldn’t be here.” The voice echoes through the darkness ominously, and Sylvain agrees: he shouldn’t be here, alone, with Dimitri.

He steps further into the cathedral anyway, and Dimitri shifts into a defensive stance. “Surely you could use some company, Your Highness. It’s no good to be alone during times like this.”

“Go back to your quarters. I don’t desire your presence.”

Some part of Sylvain wants to push and keep pushing, as though that will somehow reveal the Dimitri he knew. “That’s harsh, Your Highness. It’s been a long five years since I last saw you, you know? We have a lot to catch up on.”

Sylvain doesn’t quite see, but rather feels, Dimitri’s heated glare. “I have nothing to say to you.”

It stings, but it’s also no different than something Dimitri would have said to him after they fell out. It’s a feeble hope, hardly something to cling onto, yet—“That’s okay. You know I’m used to holding the conversation.”

Dimitri doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t leave, either. So Sylvain stays, too, taking a seat on a pew. He doesn’t quite have the heart to breach their common past, but he talks aimlessly about what he’s been doing for the past five years, as if any of it matters to him or Dimitri.

Dimitri says nothing the entire time, even when Sylvain stops to let him get a word in edgewise or ask him something. It’s painstakingly different from their Academy days, when the two of them could talk for hours on end, as though they were still wide-eyed children whose whole world was wrapped up in one another.

Sylvain, eventually, gives up. He excuses himself—still no reply from Dimitri—rather abruptly, but he’s become exhausted by the whole charade. 

The room he gets back to is identical to his old Academy one. As though he was five years younger and wrestling with what was probably a crush he didn’t know how to handle, Sylvain  
lands on his bed with a sigh. Dimitri was probably the only one who would ever genuinely care for him in that way then, and he threw it away as though it meant nothing. Even worse: Dimitri is probably the only one he could have trusted with something like that. And now—it’s gone, along with any reminder of what it could have been like. There is no glimmer of the Dimitri he once knew within this one.

/ * \

The first time Sylvain sees an emotion other than anger on Dimitri’s face since their reunion is when Rodrigue dies. Everyone witnesses Rodrigue’s death firsthand, but what many likely miss is the way Dimitri’s face contorts in unabashed pain.

It does not come as much of a shock, therefore, that Dimitri transforms afterward. That he _apologizes_. Or—that’s not quite right. It’s enough of a shock that Sylvain can’t make his voice work, no matter how much he wishes it would, but something inside him had known it was coming nonetheless. He just hadn’t expected it so soon or anticipated how it would affect him. Maybe he should’ve, though.

He should try to talk to Dimitri again—maybe this time, they could get somewhere. That’s what’s frightening. Before, Sylvain knew it was hopeless. Now? He’s not so sure. 

For all that his eyes follow Dimitri around everywhere, as do his thoughts, Sylvain can’t work up the guts to approach him. At first, Felix scoffs, muttering something about him being an idiot. Eventually, he gets fed up, and pulls Sylvain aside. “I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but you’re being pathetic. It’s been barely a day since the boar has shaped up, and you’re already acting like a prisoner on his execution day. Go deal with it already. None of us wants to watch this pitiful display.”

Felix is right. It’s easier said than done, though, to approach Dimitri and—what? Apologize? Ask him if they can reconcile? Sylvain doesn’t even know how to initiate it, much less what he really wants. That’s hardly fair to Dimitri. 

Sylvain plans to take a few days to think about it, but the Goddess has other plans, it seems. Someone knocks at his door early the next morning, Sylvain still bleary-eyed with sleep. Three quick raps that Sylvain recognizes immediately.

Sylvain considers not letting him in, but he knows he can’t run away any longer than he has. So he steels himself, palms a little sweaty already, and opens the door. “Oh,” Dimitri says, a little hushed. “Did I wake you up? I apologize. I can come back at a later time—”

“No,” Sylvain says, quickly. “It’s fine. Come on in and make yourself at home.” He steps aside to let Dimitri in, and Dimitri sits at his desk.

Sylvain has nowhere else to sit but his bed. He waits, and Dimitri, picking up on that, starts. “Well, I… I wanted to apologize to you personally. You must have been quite astonished by this metamorphosis, especially as I failed to acknowledge your efforts to connect with me. I understand that it likely colored your view of me, but I hope we can… move past that, in time, and become friends again. Though I do understand if you’d rather—”

“No,” Sylvain finds himself saying. “No, I definitely—we… I missed you all of these years. It’s good to have you back.”

“I’m glad,” Dimitri says earnestly, if not a little stilted. He clears his throat and pauses for a moment before continuing. “I do also hope that my behavior five years ago did not upset you too greatly. I… purposefully avoided you instead of trying to mend our relationship, which was neither befitting of my position nor of what you deserved. I admit I was hurt by what you said, but it is my duty to—”

“Dealing with that was not your duty,” Sylvain cuts in. “It was unacceptable behavior. I threw your feelings right back in your face and pretended I was being just. You had every right to be upset.”

Surprise flickers across Dimitri’s face. “If you insist. I suppose it was… a bad situation for both of us. Still, I apologize for making you as distraught as I did. I didn’t know that topic would dredge up such negativity, and I know you would not have acted that way unless you were pressed to.”

“Stop making it your fault, Your Highness. You didn’t—”

“Call me by name, please. We have no need for such formalities, and haven’t for a while.”

Sylvain presses his lips into a line. “…Dimitri, then.” He hates the way the name sends a thrill through his veins. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s hardly a crime to—have a crush on someone.” Hates how he can’t say _in love_ , can’t acknowledge it to Dimitri’s face.

“I suppose not. But I’ll only accept that if you accept that you are not to blame for such a situation causing you distress.”

Sylvain grimaces. There’s no way Dimitri is going to drop it. “Fine, I guess.”

Dimitri’s lips quirk into a smile.

/ * \

After that, for all the distance these five years should have created, the two become as close as they were in the Academy days before Sylvain rejected Dimitri.

Sylvain loves and hates it. Yeah, it’s great to be close with Dimitri again, to have one of his best friends back at his side, but it’s also horrible, because—Sylvain isn’t so sure that’s all they are. Dimitri never quite said either way if he still felt the same about Sylvain, after all, putting them in this weird grey area that Sylvain can’t quite parse. It’s always been one way or the other with the girls he courted. And, well, Sylvain—Sylvain isn’t so used to being the one with the crush.

He can admit that much, at least. Five years of thinking about the Academy and regretting it, months of yearning for the Dimitri he once knew—he had felt the same way for a long time, maybe from the very start. 

It’s all too simple to fall back into the same pattern: his eyes follow Dimitri everywhere, there are little sparks whenever they touch, and happiness thrums through him whenever they’re together. It’s much, much different than when he’s with Ingrid or Felix. Something more intimate, more peculiar. 

Ingrid sends him knowing looks every now and then. Felix, too, although his are more disgusted than anything else. He mutters something about Sylvain being a lovesick maiden at one point before telling him more explicitly, “You need to get your act together. This is even worse to watch than when you hadn’t reconciled yet. Just ask him out and deal with the consequences.”

As always, Felix is right. Dimitri hasn’t acted quite so forward as he did during their Academy days, but he has plenty of reason not to. And, really—Sylvain would never forgive himself if he let this chance slip through his fingers again, no matter how afraid he is. 

He has to wait until after they win the war, though. There’s no excuse for distracting Dimitri with something trifling when they’re so close to overcoming the Empire. If they win, he’ll tell Dimitri everything. If not, well—chances are he won’t have to worry about it then, anyway.

/ * \

As Sylvain should have known they would, they win.

/ * \

Sylvain leaves a note under Dimitri’s door the night after all the festivities—a simple one, just asking him to meet Sylvain at the Goddess Tower the next day. Sylvain almost expects Dimitri not to show up—there’s a slew of events happening, after all, and many affairs that Dimitri needs to attend to.

Nonetheless, when Sylvain arrives at the Goddess Tower, Dimitri is already there. The morning sun is trickling through the sky and shines in his hair in a manner ethereal.

Dimitri turns around, probably hearing his footsteps. “Ah, Sylvain. Don’t worry about being late. I simply arrived earlier than I needed to.”

“Excited to see me, huh, Dimitri?” Sylvain asks, winking at him. It rings a little hollower than Sylvain would like. “Well, I guess I should tell you why I asked you to meet me here. I bet you’re just dying with curiosity.”

Dimitri smiles ever-so-slightly. “You could say that.”

“Well, it would be rude of me to keep you waiting. I…” His throat suddenly closes up. Instead of what he really wants to say, he asks, “You know the stories about the Goddess Tower?” 

“It would be foolish of me to not. You’re referring to the legend about the wishes, yes?”

“Well, kind of. I more meant the part about, you know, how this is supposed to be a sacred place for soulmates.”

“I thought you told me that you don’t have a soulmark,” Dimitri says, carefully. 

“I don’t.” Sylvain pauses, trying to collect his thoughts. “Maybe choosing here was kind of stupid, on second thought, but I…”

“What is the purpose of this? Surely you’re not—”

“I am,” Sylvain says before he can think better of it. “Or—I guess I’m asking if you, you know, still… feel the same way.”

Dimitri hesitates, and Sylvain’s heart falls deep into his stomach. “Of course I do, Sylvain. Aside from when I was—not myself, your importance to me has not wavered. Rather, it returned all the more intensely once I came back to myself. I have always cared for you deeply, but I do not want this to mean anything that you do not want it to. I understand that these affairs are difficult for you, and I don’t wish to impose—”

“That’s _it_ ,” Sylvain cuts in. “Why do you—why do you care so much? After all these years, after how I treated you, after…”

“As I’ve said, Sylvain, we all have our flaws—something unacceptable about us. Yet even during these past few months, you still stayed by my side and attempted to connect with me, despite how ugly of a state I was in. You’ve treated me as you always have, as a childhood friend—I cannot tell you how precious it was to me. Besides, such feelings do not waver so easily. So—maybe you still think yourself insufficient, but you are blind to your own goodness if that’s truly what you see.”

Hope—not uncertain and whimsical, but firm and sharp—throbs in Sylvain’s chest. “You… actually love me, don’t you?” 

“I do,” Dimitri says, easily. “I have no doubts about that. But I understand if your feelings have remained the same, as well. I, of course, do not intend to pressure you into—”

“You’ve gotta slow down there, Dimitri,” Sylvain says, words spilling out despite himself. In their rush, though, they get all jammed up, awkward and tight, as he continues. “What if I hadn’t been as honest as I should have?”

Dimitri freezes. Cautiously, he murmurs, “You cannot be implying that you…”

“I am,” Syvlain says, in a burst of courage that steadies him. “I—feel the same as you.” And, barely audible: “You have to know that I love you, too, Dimitri.”

Dimitri inhales sharply, as though taking a second to compose himself. “That… gives me great joy, Sylvain. I…” He clears his throat, looking away as his cheeks tint pink. 

Sylvain smiles, heart is fluttering in his chest, not trusting himself to speak, just as Dimitri doesn’t seem to trust himself. Dimitri returns Sylvain’s smile with one larger and more genuine than Sylvain has seen in years. A little shakily, Dimitri bridges the gap, reaching his hand—the left one, moving the shoulder that Edelgard drove her dagger into—out towards Sylvain. 

Sylvain takes it.

**Author's Note:**

> i was possessed and wrote this all in one day. god. dimivain really does that to you, huh. 
> 
> big ol’ thanks to [luci](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferTM/pseuds/luciferTM) for betaing this when they don’t even know 3h LMAO. i love u and appreciate u so much!! i would also like to thank [jake](https://twitter.com/paraexorcist) for reading this over for characterization! i love yall to death thank you for enabling my dimivain agenda
> 
> thank you so much for reading!! i really hope you enjoyed! i’m really proud of how this came out and i hope reading it gave you as much joy as writing it gave me. please feel free to leave kudos or comments—they keep me going! :-) if you wanna chat on twitter or anything, please feel free to hmu [@candidum](https://twitter.com/candidum)!


End file.
